


a little bit longer (a ways to go)

by mimizans



Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Drabble Collection, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-08
Updated: 2015-09-08
Packaged: 2018-04-19 19:17:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,391
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4757861
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mimizans/pseuds/mimizans
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>a beautiful tarantula corners a short-tempered man at a new york starbucks</p>
            </blockquote>





	a little bit longer (a ways to go)

**Author's Note:**

> when i say modern(ish), i mean that i'm not really all that concerned with anachronisms and people may dress like it is 1965 even though it is, probably, 2015, because #aesthetic. in the immortal words of the archers:
> 
> malory: what year do you think this IS?!  
> sterling: exactly. good question. 
> 
> thanks for reading!

It’s not that Illya dislikes Angelique on a personal level. He’s not petty. Mostly.

No, his dislike of her is purely professional, as he has told an unbelieving, smirking Napoleon too many times. Illya just doesn’t think it’s becoming for an UNCLE agent to be cavorting with a THRUSH operative. Especially one that has made no secret of her desire to kill Napoleon in between their lurid trysts.

During yesterday’s meeting with Mr. Waverly, he and Napoleon had been handed a case file detailing the activities of a THRUSH satrap that had recently begun conducting a number of suspicious activities on the Upper West Side. Angelique’s name had come up in the file; presumably she was one of the cell’s supervisors. Napoleon’s eyes had lit up, while Illya had had to curb the instinct to noticeably grimace. He was in no way looking forward to conducting a dangerous undercover mission while simultaneously avoiding Angelique, who would know them both by sight, and trying to keep Napoleon from deliberately seeking out Angelique. Illya is quite sure that his partner has some sort of deep-seated death wish and that he himself will end up gray before the age of 40 because of it. 

Illya slept badly that night, unable to stop himself from dwelling on gut-wrenching possible scenarios of what could go wrong during his and Napoleon’s upcoming mission; in most of his morbid fantasies, one or both of them ended up either painfully dead or well on their way to it . It was no wonder that the morning found him groggier and more irritated than usual.

Illya shakes himself out of his thoughts and sighs, the sound somewhere between resignation and disdain, and thanks the barista for his coffee. He navigates his way through the throngs of people populating the coffee shop and finds the condiment bar, already scattered with drips of coffee, sprinkles of sugar, and wayward napkins. He carefully opens a sugar packet, his fingers still slightly stiff from the bitter cold of the morning, and stirs the contents into his coffee - perhaps a little too forcefully, if the way the coffee sloshes precariously is any indication. He’s about to take his first sip when he hears a warm laugh near his ear and nearly dumps his coffee on himself in his haste to reach for his gun.

“Now, now,” Angelique says, smiling at him, her lips dark against her pale skin, wind-whipped skin, “let’s not get ahead of ourselves, Illya.” She holds up her left hand in a gesture of surrender; her right is wrapped around a coffee cup. This shocks Illya for a moment, because he realizes that he subconsciously believed Angelique only drank chilled champagne spiked with the blood of small, unfortunate animals. 

She’s markedly less put together than he’s ever seen her; her entire persona has always screamed “THIS IS A TRAP” rather loudly to Illya, with the tight skirts and the mink stoles and the soft glow of her hair contrasted with the sharp, dark, ruby of her lips. Angelique dressed like the cliche of an evil, sexy spy master. Now, though, she looks very much like she has raided the closet of his WASP-y neighbor, Marianne, who has two small children and is on his building’s co-op board. 

The oddness of Angelique standing here, as unthreatening as he has ever seen her, is enough to make Illya pause in the act of pulling out his sidearm and shooting her in the middle of Starbucks, which he is rapidly realizing might not be the _best_ idea. He settles for glowering at her in what he has been told is a very unfriendly way. “I do not think I have ever given you permission to call me by my first name,” he says.

Angelique’s smile widens. “Oh, I’m sorry,” she says, reaching past him to fish a sugar packet out of the caddy. “I don’t mean to be rude.” Illya rolls his eyes, because she very obviously does, given the way she is purposefully elbowing him with every stir of her drink. 

“It’s just that I feel like I know you,” Angelique says, looking up at Illya from under her eyelashes. “Napoleon talks about you _all the time_.” She pulls her stirring straw from her drink and sucks milky brown liquid from the end of it. “All the time,” she reiterates. “It’s really very distracting.” 

“You’re going to have to come up with a better lie than that,” Illya says. “Napoleon would never jeopardize the agency by talking to you about me.” He turns from Angelique with what he hopes is a sense of finality and starts towards the door.

Her laugh follows him through the store, and to his chagrin he finds that she has followed him outside, wrapped in a purple coat and with an admittedly charming beret perched on her head. “You’re right, of course,” she says, falling into step beside him, walking as fast as he is even in heeled boots. “He’s much too loyal to you for that.” She casts Illya a sideways glance. He thinks that she is looking for something in his face, but he’s not sure what. “I do feel like I know you though, Mr. Kuryakin. Always skulking around, as you are. Ruining my fun.”

“Sidelining your attempts at murdering my partner, you mean,” Illya says.

“Call it what you will,” Angelique replies, waving a dismissive hand, “but you have to admit, you are always underfoot.”

“I consider it one of my best qualities,” Illya says, coming to a stop at an intersection. The WALK sign won’t be glowing for another minute at least, and Illya begins to tap his foot impatiently. “Now, how far are you planning on following me? I have to get to work, you know, and as much as it would please you, you can’t follow me into UNCLE headquarters.”

Angelique hums noncommittally. She raises her cup of coffee to her lips and peers at him over the rim of the cup, steam clouding her face. She looks thoughtful, the gears in her head turning far too quickly for Illya’s liking.

“Napoleon said that you were jealous of him,” Angelique says, matter-of-factly. “Jealous of his touch with women, probably.” She smiles, just the slightest upturn of her lips. “Jealous of his relationship with me.”

“Which is incorrect,” Illya comments, his voice as dry as he can make it.

Angelique tilts her head, her blonde curls brushing against the collar of her coat. “You know, I think it is,” she says quietly. “You’re not jealous of him at all.”

“No,” Illya confirms, narrowing his eyes at Angelique’s cat-that-caught-the-canary smile. He waits for the other shoe to drop.

“You’re jealous of _me_ ,” Angelique says simply, her smile smug and triumphant. 

Illya gapes. “What,” he replies, so shocked at her outright accusation that he can’t even muster the outrage to make the word a question.

“How hard it must be, to be attracted to your partner...” She pauses and glances at Illya, as though to confirm that she has his full attention. “Dare I say, _in love_ with your partner? And to watch him flit about as he does! Illya, dear - oh, I apologize, _Mr. Kuryakin_ \- it must be very difficult for you indeed. Tragic, almost.”

“None of that is true,” Illya replies, his head spinning.

Angelique casts her eyes heavenward and lets out a dramatic sigh. “Please! You’re a spy. If you’re going to tell a lie, at least make it a good one.” She glances down at her watch, which Illya is reasonably sure isn’t even ticking, and lets out a surprised little exclamation. “Oh! Look at the time. I have some business to attend to, and you’ll be glad to know that it’s of the decidedly nefarious variety, but I do hope we can do this again soon, Illya.” Angelique swiftly leans in and kisses his cheek, damage done and havoc wreaked. She saunters away, jaywalking through the busy intersection and causing several cars to honk. She waves the noise away with a smile and a swing of her hips.

It starts snowing rather hard as Angelique disappears into the New York crowds, soft white flakes floating down onto the gray city. Illya arrives at Del Floria’s wet, red-faced, and unable to look Napoleon in the eye for the rest of the morning.

**Author's Note:**

> find me on tumblr @ aceicequeen if you want to chat!


End file.
